Conspiracy
by Tall on the Inside
Summary: "They call it the Hetalia conspiracy," she smiles. "The theory that every nation is personified."
1. Liechtenstein

**Author's Note:**

This is old. Like, really old. It's froma forever ago. My phone memory is full of half-finished oneshots, and I wanted to delete a few, found this one and thought, hey, it's finished, I'll upload it. At least that way I'll be able to free up some of the memory on my phone.

It's written in the present tense, because I was experimenting with that at the time. I'm actually still in shock from re-reading it; I can remember writting it, ages ago. It's weird, reading stuff like this.

I feel like this has the potential to be so much more. But for now, it's just this little short story.

Do not own Hetalia. This oneshot contains unnamed OC's, though. They're unnamed, and OC's.

* * *

Gritting his teeth against the cold wind, the boy hugs his folder closer, praying that none of it will be stolen. The pile he holds next to his chest is, to him, almost as precious as the organ that resides within his chest.

He is what some might call a fanatic.

He is holding his research. His life's work. His evidence and proof. Because he knows he's right.

He doesn't care if every other civilian in Liechtenstein disagrees with him, he is right.

He isn't stupid enough to fall for their lies, and he knows there are others out there who agree with him. He reads all the forums. And the blogs. And the everything.

He has a website devoted to it.

One of the blogs he reads is written by a young American woman who has actually seen her-

The boy is thinking so hard, anticipating arriving home and reading the next instalment of said blog that he doesn't notice the girl walking in the opposite direction to him until it's too late, and they're both on the floor, his paperwork scattered everywhere.

"Scheiße," he mutters under his breath, rummaging around in the snow, grasping for his work.

"Here, let me help you," says the girl he bumped into.

She has a high-pitched voice, and looks to be about the same age as him at fifteen, maybe sixteen years old. If not for the fact she is wearing a dress though, he probably would've mistaken her for a boy, as her hair is short, jagged. It is an attractive shade of blonde, not unlike his own, a blue ribbon tied in it, and contrasting with the colour. She looks up at him, smiling, and he sees her large green eyes for the first time, and frankly, he's captivated.

She hands him his paper. He mumbles, "Danke," and bobs his head with gratitude.

She giggles slightly.

He worries that she has read the paper, and thinks ill of him. Maybe she thinks the same as his peers, that he's a freak, a nerd, a dork.

Because he listens to the whispers on the wind, and he believes them.

"You've heard the rumours then?" she asks as they stand up.

"I've heard many rumours, Fräulein," he replies in an attempt to be mysterious, for this girl has certainly taken his fancy. "Which one are you referring to?"

"They call it the Hetalia conspiracy," she smiles, almost skipping through the snow to a nearby bench, which she pats, indicating she desires him to sit next to her. "You are aware of it?"

"Ja... The theory that every nation is personified."

He feels his eyes grow wide as he takes the seat offered to him. This conspiracy is his passion, his most sacred belief, and he clings to it, holds on to it as one holds on to a fading dream as their eyes part in the morning sun.

She brushes a stray strand of hair from where it has fallen in her eyes. "Do you believe it's true?"

"I do, Fräulein," he admits, nodding. He doesn't know why he's spilling out his secrets to a stranger, but for some reason he feels compelled to. He doubts there is anything he wouldn't do for this girl.

Her eyes begin to gleam. "I thought so."

"I blog about it," he blurts out. "I have a website. It gets plenty of hits. There are thousands of people out there who believe." He stares at her, his gaze imploring, not wanting to ask her if she's a believer, but desperate to have her tell him.

Her smile grows, and the gleam in her eyes becomes brighter. "Why wouldn't there be?" she asks. "It's true."

Relief fills him. She doesn't think he's a fool, or a dork, because she's a believer too. Because she follows the truth, instead of the lies society spews out.

Suddenly, his heart stops. What if she's mocking him?

"You... You really believe it's true?" he checks cautiously, now beginning to worry.

"I know it's true," she states simply. She plays with a fold in her skirt. "Why do you believe in it?"

"Why do Christians believe in a God?" he retorts, offended slightly. It is almost as if she is claiming he isn't a real follower.

Her smile falls. "Are you saying you believe the conspiracy because you want to believe there's a higher power?"

He shakes his head. "No... I just... I can't explain it, but part of me knows it's true. Part of me has always known. Does that make sense?"

She nods. "I feel the same way."

"You do?" His eyebrows draw closer together at the reply he wasn't expecting.

"Ja. Since I was born, I've known it to be true."

He chuckles. "I doubt you've believed in it since you were born."

She shrugs. "I've believed it longer than you have."

"That's probably true," he nods, his voice light, "I only heard it a few years ago. But as soon as I discovered it, it was like something clicked. Like I'd found my purpose in life. Like I was meant to discover the existence of personified countries, prove the Hetalia conspiracy correct, and show this to the rest of the world."

"I like your determination." She smiles again; this time he notices how white her teeth are.

"Danke," he appreciates the complement. Because no one ever calls it determination.

They usually call it an obsession. A disorder. An irrational belief in something that is obviously not true. Because land masses can't be people. Countries can't have hearts and souls and minds. It's impossible. Ludicrous.

They don't realise that people have been absent-mindedly personifying countries for years in their artwork; mainly wartime propaganda. Who's to say those pictures weren't modelled on real personifications of the mighty nations fighting those wars?

No one.

"So which theories do you believe?" she asks, genuine interest in her voice. "The theories that all nations are female, all nations are male, or nations are an even mix of both?"

"I want to believe they're all female," he admits, "because they have always been drawn as such. Und, in Spanish, the majority of their names are feminine nouns."

He pauses, but before he gets a chance to continue, she asks, not quite interrupting, due to her not being aware that he hasn't finished, "You speak Spanish?"

"You sound so surprised," he laughs. "No, I don't. I read it on a forum, and the idea stuck with me. However I know not all nations are female."

"How?"

The fact that she is so deeply interested in what he has to say feels so wonderful. No one ever cares, and yet this girl is intrigued, asking him for his opinion, and he will make sure to ask her for here after he is done explaining.

"One of the blogs I read, an American one, is written by someone who claims to have met her nation's personification. And he was a man."

She pauses slightly, chewing her lip in thought. "What do you think our country's personification is like?"

"Liechtenstein?" he pauses, and allows himself to think. "I think he'd be refined and gentlemanly."

"And male, clearly," she chuckles.

"I apologise; is that sexist of me?"

"No, not at all. It merely amuses me, for a minute ago you were claiming all nations to be female," she offers him another adorable smile. "Carry on?"

"Well, given recent history, perhaps he would have a close relationship with Switzerland. Perhaps, a long time ago, he was a friend of Austria's and Hungary's, and Germany also, but now he prefers Switzerland's company."

She seemed to gaze of into space. "They'd probably share a relationship not unlike the one between siblings." The words slip out subconsciously.

"Except without all the bickering, what with their histories of being neutral," he beams.

"Of course," she laughs. "They'd be any mother's dream, siblings who don't argue."

Thinking of his own younger brother, who does nothing but insult him, and his elder sister, who thinks he's a freak, he wonders aloud, "Can countries have siblings?"

"But of course," she looks at him, slightly confused. "How do you think America and Canada are related? Or North and South Italy?"

"That's a good poi- Hang on," he pauses, realising something in her sentence doesn't quite add up. "North and South Italy? Not just Italy?"

Her eyes grow even larger, something he believed impossible, and her lips press together, forming a thin line. "North and South," she finally says. "Because they used to be governed separately."

"I've not heard that theory before," he admits, "but I like the sound of it... "

She smiles, thrilled at the thought of making him happy.

"When I leave school," he tells her, unsure why, "I'm going to go into Politics. I want to make my way right to the top."

"Is that how you're going to expose the nations to the world?" she asks curiously, head tilted slightly to the side.

He nods, humming slightly as he does.

"Don't you think that's slightly like exploiting them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe there's a reason the government keep them secret; can you imagine how much harm could be done if a personified nation fell into the wrong sorts of hands?"

He's never thought about it like that. "I suppose you're right... Now I have to find a new purpose to my life."

His shoulders sag, his heart heavy with this realisation that the one thing he aimed to do could cause mass destruction. He feels himself grow angry that he hadn't even considered why the nations were kept secret.

"You should still go into politics," she said, nodding encouragingly, a hand wrapped around his arm. "You can still prove to yourself that the Hetalia conspiracy is true, just minus the exposing it to the world bit."

"That's a great idea!" he exclaims. "No need to give up in my dreams just yet... But I want the world to know that it's true too. Can I not expose them without keeping their identities secret?"

"Perhaps," she nods slightly, her smile faint.

There is silence as the two contemplate each other's ideas.

"I must thank you for the most stimulating conversation I've had in a while," she rises from the bench. "We should talk again."

"You- You're leaving already?"

"Ja," she turns to face him. He is still sitting. "My brother will worry for me if I'm not home soon."

He understands. "You should check out my website. Here, I'll write it down for you!"

He rummages through his coat pockets until he finds and old receipt and a pen. He quickly scribbles on it, then hands it to her.

"What's this?" she asks, her slender eyebrows rising and her expression becoming confused as she looks at the scrap of paper.

"My phone number," he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "in case you ever decide you want to meet up, whether it's to discuss this or maybe... Maybe we could go on a date?"

"Danke," she bows to him, respectively, before turning on her heel.

It's then that he realises.

"Wait!" he calls.

She turns, the wind sending her hair across her face.

"I don't know your name."

"It's Lili," her smile blossoms, he cheeks heating up, "Lili Zwingli. But I believe you would know me better as Liechtenstein."

* * *

**Extended A/N:**

This story is centred around Liechtenstein because it needed to be about one of the younger countries; there's another chapter that's America centric, which I'll upload in a bit, it just needs some tweaking.

It's an ancient story, but I was gunna upload it originally, then I decided it wasn't good enough. I thought I'd put it up anyway, that way I can free up some memory space. When I have a permenant laptop, I might start a longer, better version of this story, but in reverse; with characters who think they are normal people finding out they're actually personified countries.

Also, the random guy in this IS an OC. He's not a self-insert. Because I'm neither male, nor blonde, nor from Liechtenstein.


	2. America

Sat outside, allowing the warm afternoon sun to soak through her back, she reaches into her bag and pulls out her laptop. She should be preparing for her exam, but she remembers the email she was sent earlier that morning, and plans to reply to it.

She's a blogger. She has been one since she was twelve, and her father suggested she kept an online diary, so as not to run out of paper. But, in recent years, her blog has become centred around one thing; America.

She doesn't write about how great her country is. She writes about how great his personification is, and, as soon as she passes her Foreign Languages degree, she's going to go in search of him. She'll start in D.C. She decided long ago that was where he was most likely to be. Or she'll go back and do a History degree before moving on to become a teacher. One of the two.

She met him once, her nation's personification. He was a hero. She'd been far to young at the time to realise who he was (she was nine, it was ten years ago, the Hetalia theory was in it's very early days back then, mainly being preached only by strange cults), but the memory had stuck with her vividly.

The man/the nation/the hero had saved her from being hit by a truck. He had then bought he ice-cream and made her promise to be a patriotic American for the rest of her life. And then been attacked by her mother who had thanked him for saving her life, mainly by inviting him over for dinner.

The charming blue-eyed blonde had been her hero.

And, in High School, she discovered he'd been a lot of other people's hero.

She had found his picture, along with the same name he had called himself, "Alfred F. Jones,", in her textbook about WWII. The picture showed a few other Allied soldiers, all named, and was captioned with the events of their death.

Instantly, she had Googled war and eternal life, until she came across the Hetalia conspiracy. And then it clicked. She realised she had been saved by the personification of her mighty nation.

And she'd been blogging about it ever since.

She reads the message; some boy from a country she's never heard of claims he has, likewise, met the personification of his country. He says that she stated things he hadn't read on any of the blogs. She begins to reply, asking what sort of things, as well as wondering what the personification is like, but she is distracted by a voice behind her.

"I read your blog."

"Do you?" she begins to turn around slowly. "That's-"

She freezes when she sees the man behind her. He is beaming at her, his blue eyes sparkle behind his glasses, and his hair sticking up at an angle.

She can only stare. He laughs.

"It's you," she finally says, her voice a whisper.

"Yep, for reals!" his smile doubles in size.

She rises out of her seat. "You look exactly the same," she states, walking around him. "Just as I remember, and-"

"Just like I did in that photo?" he asks.

She gives him a quizzical look. "How did you-"

"I wasn't joking when I said I read your blog," he gestures to her computer, before walking around the table and taking a seat. "And I agree with some of the things you write."

"If you agree with it, why are the countries kept secret?" she raises her eyebrows as she slide into her seat.

"'Cuz we have to be, dude," he whines. "We don't have much choice. Just like I don't have any choice 'bout what I'm about to tell you."

"Why? What are you about to tell me?" her tone becomes worried.

He sighs. "Your website's getting shut down."

"What?" she exclaims, horrified. "You can't do that!"

"It's not up to me, and trust me, it's not just you who'll be effected by this. The German boy you're emailing will also get his website taken down, as will those twins in Beijing who you follow. Any and every major website devoted to what you call the "Hetalia conspiracy" is getting removed. The government think you've gone too far."

She glares at him. "You can't do this. Whatever happened to 'Freedom of Speech'?"

He smiles bashfully, his eyes gleaming with regret. "You deserve to have your say," he admits. "Everyone does. However, conspiracy theories, especially one as widespread as this, are only tolerated when they're a lie."

"But..." She's lost for a reply. She worked so hard on her blog, she had researched for hours, dedicated to the cause, dedicated to the truth. She looks down, and the (fake) smile slips from the nation's face. "This is all I've got to show for the past however many years," she whispers, staring at the ground.

He pats her back awkwardly. "I understand-"

"How could you possibly understand?" she hisses, but not agressively. Just quietly. "I'm not like you. You're immortal. You'll live forever, so long as you're alive in your citizens' hearts, and your legacy will survive even if you don't-"

"Sometimes that legacy isn't all it's cracked up to be," he smiles, leaning back on his chair. "I'm constantly reminded of the mistakes I made, of the people I hurt... A country can't ever escape it's past. No matter what they do, it'll always be behind them, and there will always be someone willing to bring it up and make that nation feel like dirt again."

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I never thought about it like that..."

"I've seen a lot of the more popular websites; no one does. Except this one English writer." He chuckles at some joke he doesn't understand. "Leave it to an Englishman to be morbid about something that everyone else only sees the bright side of."

She feels tears well in her eyes. "You can't let this happen! Please, America, I won't ask you for anything else-"

"Nothing can be done," he states. "Just think yourself lucky; you're getting a warning, and from the epic land of heroes and freedom himself; the other's like you, up and down the country, all over the world, are just going to find they can't access those websites. They won't get any explanation."

"This is not fair," she growls. "It's not like we're hurting anyone!"

Again, he sighs. " I didn't want it to come to this either."

She scowls. Her heart is bursting, her head full of cruel thoughts that she doesn't want to say to her nation's personification.

And then she realises, she is sat with her nation's personification, chatting with him like he is her closest friend.

She is suddenly overcome with the need to throw her arms around him in a hug.

"Woah," he says, caught by surprise. "Not the reaction I was expecting."

"You saved me," she explains. "You're the reason I'm alive. And you're you! You're America!"

He smiles, clearly pleased with the attention.

"Why did you do it?" she asks.

"Do what?" He's suddenly worried. She wonders what for. "If this is to do with England, then I-"

"Why did you save me? When I was a kid?" And now she is even more curious. "Wait, what happened with-"

"We don't need to get into that," he says, quickly and akwardly, trying to change the conversational direction. "Obviously I saved you because I'm the hero! You're one of my people, I was hardly gunna stand there and watch you get hit by a truck! Plus you were little! Little people don't deserve to die."

She brightens a little at that explanation. "You are a hero," she agrees. "You've been my hero since the day you saved me."

"Carry on talking," he grins cockilly, like he's about to make a smart comment. "My ego needs feeding. And so does my stomach. May I request we continue this conversation at the nearest fast food joint we can find?"

She has exams to prepare for, emails to send, websites she needs to print before she's lost them forever, but how can she refuse this offer? She nods, shuts her laptop, forcing it into hibernation, and slides it back into her back, then rises.

She does not notice the look of pain that briefly glints in the country's blue eyes at the deciet he is currently comiting.

She does not know that, whilst her conversation had taken place, two-thirds of the websites on the conspiracy were removed.

She does not know that the next time she opens her laptop, to continue her work, it's hard-drive will have been wiped by the government's best hackers, due to the content saved on it. And she does not know that her nation was practically forced into distracting her whilst this happens.

She does not know, nor will she ever even suspect, that America had any part in this.

How could he? He's her nation, her country.

He's her hero.

* * *

**A/N:**

Here's the continuation. I edited this a little, but even after that I'm still not happy with it. I feel like my writing has improved a lot since the time between writing this and uploading it, but I want to get both parts uploaded, so I can delete them on my phone.

Sorry for suckyness. And the shortness of both chapters.


End file.
